Over Coffee (18)

If we were having coffee, today would be a day that begins early in a coffee shop. There’s a thick pad of paper on the table and it’s crammed with notes. Ideas.

To my right is a crappy old phone with a proper QWERTY keyboard, I use it when my brain is running so fast that my handwriting can’t keep up. I’m sorry to say now that my typed writing surpasses that of my manual writing.

We’re running ideas back and forth. The cafe staff are indulgent as long as we’re ordering and buying things, and I need my caffeine topped up. I do like engaging in being a Stereotypical Artist.

It’s October now. I don’t know how that happened, but one day I was looking out the window at some hardy little daffodils, looking a bit pathetic and bedraggled in the gloomy weather. There were only a handful in the lawn they were planted on, and the patch seemed to dwindle as the days went on.

There’s a dictionary/thesaurus open on my phone and a new coffee on the table.

Mischief is afoot.

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